Chapter 20
TWENTY
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CALUM
My feet are like lead as I mount the stairs leading to my apartment door. This afternoon’s meeting with my boss, and the other Rush managers, has been replaying on a loop in my head all the way home, and I’m ready for a long, hot shower to wash away the cloying sense of disillusionment.
While Genevieve is thrilled with the swift progress I’m making with the Starling siblings, her approval is more reserved when it comes to Fifth Circle.
Their star is on the rise, certainly, and she has every faith in the band’s future success.
She would simply prefer the future be brought into the now.
Unfortunately, her accelerated timeline doesn’t gel with the band’s preference for a more relaxed approach.
Fifth Circle’s first full-length album will be released in two months.
Then, they’ll play the Autumn Skies Music Festival again.
The month after that, they’ll embark on a four-week national tour before regrouping and planning their next move.
Is it the boldest of plans? No. But it does take all their needs into consideration—including Ned’s lingering anxiety, Johnny’s available leave from the pharmacy, and Gavin’s reluctance to be separated from his wife for long periods of time.
Oz, single and self-employed, is the only one with the ability to pick up and go whenever.
I pitched the plan to Genevieve as a ‘considered path to a sustainable high’. Arthur scoffed from his place at her side, wondering aloud if this crap was down to a lack of commitment on their part or a lack of persuasiveness on mine. Everyone else in the room remained deathly silent.
“How are you getting along with the members of Fifth Circle?” Genevieve asked.
A twinge of anxiety shot through me before I reminded myself she couldn’t possibly know about me and Johnny when there’s nothing to know. “We’ve developed a strong working relationship and have excellent rapport.”
“You’ve become friendly with them, have you?” she asked with a tight smile.
Swallowing, I nodded. “I would say so, yes.”
“Except clients are not friends, Calum.” Any warmth her expression may have held winked out.
“Clients are resources, and the majority of them spoil rapidly. If you can’t get the best out of them while they’re still fresh in the public’s eye, then how will you make the time you’ve spent with them worth my while? ”
Even now, hours later, I can still taste the sour edge of her disappointment in the back of my mouth.
I’ve never wanted to be the kind of manager who wrings the talent from my artists as hard and as fast as possible.
The Starling siblings are young and eager.
They want a meteoric rise to fame and I’m working my arse off to make that happen for them.
Fifth Circle is different. When I first approached Ned at the festival last April, I tried pitching the hard and fast approach. It didn’t take long to realise my mistake.
These men I’ve come to care about have massive potential. And yes, if I pushed them harder, the embers they’ve been fanning would almost certainly ignite into a blazing wildfire. But that kind of heat would consume them whole. Ned would be the first to succumb to the flames.
My passion for this job came from my dream of supporting Hannah as she stepped into the limelight. For me, treating my artists with less care than I would show for my sister would be tantamount to failure—no matter how much money I, or anyone else, made in the process.
However, this is a business. Genevieve’s business.
I do appreciate the need for my work to contribute to the company’s profits.
I always believed when I became a manager, I would find a way to strike a balance between protecting my client’s interests and meeting Rush’s demanding business objectives.
Without being careless like Arthur. Without being manipulative like Zac.
I’ve worked so hard these past seven months to make it happen.
After today, I’m beginning to wonder if such a compromise is even possible.
Genevieve’s patience with me is wearing thin. While she has decided to allow me to continue as I am for now, the implication is clear: If I fail to meet my targets within a reasonable time frame, I’ll be expected to sacrifice my ideals in favour of Rush’s bottom line.
I’m halfway up the final staircase when I hear her. My body stills, ears straining for more.
Hannah.
She’s singing.
My eyes close, a smile creeping its way onto my tired face. Damn, she’s good. I’d almost forgotten.
I’m about to open the door when something about what I’m hearing makes me stop. The guitar. Hannah is good with a guitar. She’s better than I’ll ever be, but she’s not this good. Whoever’s accompanying her sounds like… Johnny. I gasp. It can’t be.
Carefully sliding my key into the lock, I ease the door open and pause in the entryway.
Hannah is perched sideways on the armchair, her eyes closed as she sings. The lyrics are unfamiliar to me, but she performs them with an easy confidence.
Johnny sits on the couch, my guitar resting on one bent leg. His other foot is tapping along to the tune he’s playing so effortlessly. The two of them seem totally in sync with each other. Hannah’s voice melding perfectly with Johnny’s notes.
The sight of them here, together, doing what each of them does best, makes an absolute mess out of my already battered heart. Moisture pricks at the back of my eyes. I would give anything to come home to this—exactly this—every day.
Johnny’s head lifts, and he catches sight of me. His fingers jerk on the strings. The colour drains from his face. Hannah’s voice falters as she glances around. “Oh, shit,” she says, shooting up off the armchair.
“Language, little sister.”
She crosses her arms, scowling at me. “You’re early.”
“Nope.” I shake my head. “Right on time.”
She looks down at her watch. “Oh.”
“Guess we lost track of the time.” Johnny stands and carefully places my guitar back on its stand.
How long has he been here? But more importantly… “What were you singing?” I ask Hannah.
“I wasn’t singing,” she snaps.
I lift an eyebrow at her.
“No, I mean…” She gives a false laugh and waves a hand in Johnny’s direction. “We were just messing around.”
“I should go.” Johnny keeps his gaze averted as he heads for the door behind me.
“No,” Hannah jumps in. “You stay. I’m gonna go,” she backs down the hallway, “to my room.” She lifts a hand. “Catch you later, Johnny.” The cheery farewell has me doing a double-take. Since when does Hannah enjoy meeting someone?
My head turns in time to catch the affection in Johnny’s expression. “You too, Hannah. Thanks for your help.”
She makes a dismissive sound. “It was nothing.” Her door closes with a bang. Within seconds, loud music begins to emanate from behind it.
Johnny snorts a laugh.
Grimacing, I turn to face him. “She’s subtle.”
“She’s a sweetheart,” he says, all soft eyes and gentle smile. “And a hell of a singer.”
“Yeah. No kidding.” I put my work bag on the kitchen counter before turning back to him. “How did you manage that?”
“Manage what?”
“Getting her to sing for you.”
He looks confused. “We got to talking and it just… kind of… happened.”
As if it’s that easy. As if getting my sister to sing is no big deal. What kind of bonding moment did these two have while I was off squirming under my boss’s narrowed gaze?
“Why aren’t you managing her?” Johnny asks.
Exasperation makes me sigh. “You’ll have to ask her. Heads up, she won’t give a satisfactory answer.”
His head tilts as he considers that, before a smile quirks onto his mouth. “She knew who I was when I showed up here. She called me the one?”
His question begs an answer he won’t be getting from me. “You’re forgetting, I was on the phone with her when you came up to me the night we met. Of course, I mentioned you.”
“Because you couldn’t keep your eyes off me.”
“Because you could have been a serial killer.”
He gives a short laugh. “For real, are you two obsessed with serial killers or something?”
I shrug. “We like horror movies.”
“Huh. Something else I didn’t know.” His brown eyes study me closely before he shakes his head. “It didn’t stop you from wandering off into the dark with me. Where’s your sense of self-preservation?”
He’s joking, but his words trigger the memory of our first kiss. The one that ruined me for every man since. The one that still threatens my job because of my inability to let it, or him, go. I need to get him out of my apartment.
“Why are you here?” I ask, my voice betraying an annoyance that has more to do with me than him.
“Oh, um…” He goes over to our sorry excuse for a Christmas tree and nabs a wrapped box from underneath. “Merry Christmas,” he mutters, all but dumping it in my hands.
My mouth drops open. “You didn’t need to—”
“Don’t get too excited.” He’s doing that restless feet thing again and his hands are shoved into his back pockets.
“It’s nothing. I saw it in the store and thought of you.
” His gaze darts from the present to my face and back again.
Plucking it from my hands, he puts it back under the tree. “You can’t open it until Christmas.”
My heart warms at his fumbling, which only feeds my irritation. “Thank you for the gift.”
He nods, his eyes averted. “I should go.”
He really should, before I… do something. Wrap his awkward self up in a giant hug? Slap him senseless for putting us in such a dangerous position? I don’t even know.
He walks to the door, and I steel myself for his departure. The knowledge he was here, in my home, may keep me up—raging and cursing and fucking my own hand—half the night.
“Oh,” he says, turning back to me, “one more thing—”
“No,” I snap, falling back a step.
He frowns. “No what?”
“No, you can’t have a fucking minute,” I growl at him. “Not here.”
His mouth opens, as if he’s going to argue the point, and I hold up a hand to stop him.
“You have to know one minute would turn into ten. Ten would turn into an hour. That hour would turn into me tying you to the goddamned bed.”
Wide eyes stare at me as he shakes his head. “Cal, I didn’t mean to—”
“But you always do.” There’s an accusation in my voice I don’t really mean, but I kind of do.
How dare he show up like this? In my home.
Mere metres from my bed. He knows what’s at stake.
“That girl in there?” I jab a finger in the direction of Hannah’s room.
“She’s relying on me to make everything better.
I cannot fuck her life up because you like the way it hurts. ”
Johnny inhales sharply, his back pressed against the door.
The ensuing silence echoes with the sting of my thoughtlessness. It’s been a long day. I’m tired and anxious. But that’s no excuse to take my frustration out on him. “Johnny—”
“I was going to say…” He tries for a casual tone, but the hurt is unmistakable. “Gavin and Charmaine are having a New Year’s Eve party. They’d like you and Hannah to be there.”
Regret slams into me. I close my eyes, my body sagging.
“You’ll get an official invite, but I hoped to lock you in, before you get a better offer.” He swallows hard, still not looking at me.
“I’ll try,” I tell him. “Hannah and I usually spend new year’s together, and she’s not much for parties.”
He nods. “That’s fair.”
My throat aches as I swallow. “I’m sorry.”
“I never should have come here.” His voice is raspy as he reaches behind him to open the door. “I swear, seeing you wasn’t part of the plan, but even so…” His gaze sneaks up to mine and the regret there threatens to bring me to my knees. “It won’t happen again.”
And then he’s gone.